I was in two minds about what to write today, caught between another Flashback Friday and the shenanigans of the past few days. It was thanks to Jayden that I came to the decision on today’s post. This post is a true story and goes right back to the early days of my relationship with Matt – enjoy!
It’s early on a Thursday evening. I’m dressed in a tight-fitting, black boat-neck top, a barely knee-length denim skirt, black opaque tights and below-the-knee black leather stiletto boots. The tights aren’t so opaque that my skin tone isn’t visible when I sit, but nor are they so sheer that I look half-dressed. They aren’t desired, but they are a compromise – without them, my mother would never let me leave.
Before I depart, I spritz my skin lightly with Very Irresistible Givenchy and brush my hair through once more. Adrenaline knots my stomach and dinner refuses to digest. I sigh deeply and wonder how I’ll manage. No matter, tonight I’m seeing him.
I pull on my faux leather black jacket and check that I have the right change – £3.70, enough for a ‘day rider’. I grab my door keys from the hook and say my farewells. Back by 10:30PM, it’s agreed – that’s usually long enough.
The short walk to the bus stop is largely uneventful. I walk with confidence, though few people know why. I regard them with a whiff of disdain: If you knew what I was doing, you’d be dressed up like this, too.
I slip my earphones in and listen to Depeche Mode’s “Master & Servant”, loud and on repeat. Master and servant. yes – and it feels good.
The double-decker bus rolls up and I get on. Sometimes the driver regards me with indifference and other times they smile. I don’t feel objectified, if anything, I feel flattered. Unfortunately for them though, I didn’t dress this way to catch the bus.
The bus ride takes twenty minutes and my heart rate picks up at each twist and turn. Each bump in the road makes my heart skip a beat as it tries to keep up pace. Do I want to do this? Really? Are you sure?
Yes, I am, and yes, I do.
I get off of the bus just after the roundabout and walk down one of the main roads. At the end lies a garage, a store and a pub. I’m neutral about them at first, though they’re more familiar as time goes on. For me, they’ll become a part of my ‘home’.
I walk down his road and smile at passers-by. Here, they’re more judgemental and often pass me scornful looks. Again I don’t treat them any differently, I just smile and nod. They don’t know me, and I don’t know them.
I reach the dip in the pavement and bear left, almost looping back on the path not long trodden. Ahead of me is a porch and a blue wooden door with aging brass door numbers – number 35.
I contemplate my next move for a second. Do I knock? Do I go home? Do I sit on the wall for a moment? Oh god, he’s already expecting me. I know that I can buy some time, but too long and he’ll start to wonder what has become of me. What do I want to do?
With trembling fingers, I reach out and press the doorbell.
Through the side glass panel, I see him almost effortlessly run down over the stairs. The door creaks open and he stands ahead of me.
“Hi” he says. His voice is casual, though perhaps a little nervous also.
“Hi” I reply hesitantly.
“Come on in” he encourages, stepping aside for me to enter. He pushes the door closed after me, his lips pressed against mine as he does.
“We have to stop, we have to behave” he says, his voice is frustration and hopelessness, tinged with sadness. It stings a little, but it’s my own fault for falling in. I’d already said the ‘L’ word at least half a dozen times, and I meant it. With every fibre of my being and in ways that I’d never truly understood, I meant it.
“Okay, we’ll behave” I say, holding up my hands. My eyes meet his and I cock my head slightly, but I know you don’t want to.
“Stop it” he urges, pressing against me even harder. I feel his erection against my thigh and I smile.
Upstairs, his father is watching TV. Despite my on-off relationship with his son, Matt’s dad is surprisingly pleased to see me.
“Hello, my darling! How are you?” he asks. I smile warmly as we embrace one another in an affectionate hug. To my side, I’m aware that Matt is watching us, watching me.
I sit down next to Matt and watch some TV, or at least I try anyway, though my mind is on other things. Every now and again Matt looks at me, probably trying to gauge my mood. I smile a slight smile and lick my lips slowly, tasting him still on my lips. He squeezes my hand a little, a silent warning for me to behave.
“Right, I suppose I better make a move” Matt’s father says, fetching his jacket from the coat hooks in the hallway. He works an evening shift as a cleaner, giving us four hours with the flat to ourselves. I smile to myself as I watch Matt try to be engaged and composed for just long enough to see his father out.
“I’ll see you soon, sweetheart” Matt’s father says, again I smile and nod.
“I’m sure you will” I reply.
No sooner than the front door clicks shut, Matt turns his attention to me. This time his mood is darker, more sinister and lustful. For me, the time for making pleasantries is over.
“What do you want?” he asks again.
“To watch a movie, eat popcorn and chill?” I offer. Matt pulls on my hand gently, pulling me to my feet and towards him.
“What do you really want? he presses, I bite my lip.
“I think you know” I reply in a whisper.
He leads me the short distance to his bedroom, a deep, narrow room with cold concrete walls on either side. It’s stark and messy all at once – lots of pale mint wall surface with posters and a notice board to break it up. I note the ‘horny devil’ plush toy on the windowsill and I smile – it’s rather fitting.
He pulls my shirt from over my head and turns his attention to his own. I look up to him and drink him in – slim, almost underweight, with broad shoulders and just a little chest hair. He has some chest muscle, though he doesn’t work out. I look further up to him, his pale blue eyes are no longer casual and kind but strict and brooding. I gasp slightly at the realisation. Am I in trouble?
“Now, what am I going to do with you? All home alone with you – my cumslut- all to myself” he says. He’s not asking, of course. I know that I don’t have a say in this, but I try anyway.
“A movie?” I offer again.
“No, no, no, not it” he replies. “Dear me, what a silly idea. Tell you what, why don’t we do something about that mouth of yours to start with? That seems like a good idea”
I roll my eyes as he turns away from me. Oh joy.
He fetches two robe belts from the coat hook on the door, knotting one into a makeshift gag and using the other to secure my wrists to the headboard.
“Better” he whispers. Even in spite of the pseudo-gag, I still try my hand singing.
“Oh, you want to sing, do you?” he asks, “okay then”.
He pulls open the walnut wardrobe at the end of the bed and fetches out a leather belt, doubling it in his hand and keeping a firm grip on the buckle.
“Now, how well do you think you can sing?”
The first strike catches me at the top of the buttocks and I squeal. The pain burns, but pain quickly turns to euphoria. Again, I try for more singing.
I groan and pull on the restraints. I want to be angry, I want freedom, I want a lot of things, and yet I don’t. What I want, really want, is to be right here.
“Still singing? I didn’t tell you to stop.”
“Fuck you!” I try through the gag.
“Now now, such manners” he chides, it only provokes me more. How did he get so good?
He traces the loop of the belt slowly against my flesh and I calm.
“More?” he asks, I sigh and quiet.
“Please” I mumble.
“Please, what?” he commands.
“Please Master” I try again.
He keeps me bound as he uses my body, holding my hands in his as he fills me as hard or as soft as he wants. I’m powerless, he reminds me, there’s nothing that I can do to keep him from coming anywhere that he wants to, any time that he wants to. Each time he edges closer, he stops and steadies himself. My body is his for his enjoyment, and he’s not ending it any time soon.
“Please!” I beg. I’m free to speak, but I’m not free to move.
“Why? Why do you want it?” he growls.
“Because I want to please you” I reply, humilation and degradation setting in at my very words.
“That’s right, you do. Look at you, you just came here to get fucked, didn’t you? Used”. he says, He drives the last word home, almost a death knell to what little resolve that I had left.
“Yes, Master” I whimper.
We rush up and dress in a heartbeat and I try to tidy my now thoroughly dishevelled hair and make-up into a respectable fashion. A few moments after Matt, I make my presence known.
“Helen” Greg acknowledges with a nod and a smile.
“Hello” James says with a wave.
“Alright, Greg? James?” I acknowledge the boys as cordially as I can. I sit on the sofa with my legs crossed at the knee and my hands folded in my lap, incredibly ladylike for what had just been. Matt regards me suspiciously and I look at him with casual curiousity. Why was he so wary of me? What on earth did I do?
One by one, the boys retired to the games system in the other room and I stayed seated in the living room. The invitation hadn’t been stretched to me, and it wasn’t my position to assume that it was. Instead, I entertained myself watching the wildlife outside. If nothing else, then I would make my excuses and leave.
“Fuck, look what you left me with” Matt whispers, finding five minutes to pull away from the group and return to me in the living room. He takes my hand and places it on his bulge, instinctively I smile.
In one movement, he frees himself from his jeans and I drop to my knees to take him into my mouth. With a hand on the back of my head, he pulls me onto him and I breathe in his scent – sweet and a little sweaty, with notes of laundry detergent, body spray and maybe office cleaner. He smells like a hard-working man, and he needs to relax.
Feeling him in my mouth is enough to arouse me again. His was my first cock, and I hoped it’d be the last. The way he felt in my hand and the way he tasted. I enjoyed serving him in any way he wanted. I looked up to him to show my appreciation, but what I didn’t know was that that very gesture was enough to send him over the edge.
He keeps his fingers wrapped in my hair as he fills my mouth with his seed. It feels filthy with his friends only metres away in the other room, but I couldn’t care less. I hold him in my gaze once more as I swallow his essence.
“Thankyou, Master” I whisper.
“Fuck, did you just swallow?” he asks, I nod as though it would have been illogical not to.
“Fuck, that’s so hot” he breathes, zipping himself back up. “Nobody has done that for me before, I need to sit down”. Before he does, he helps me back to my feet.
I make my way back to the bus stop for stop for 9:30PM – late enough, but not too late. He walks with me, hand-in-hand as we talk about the sunset and the open space that surrounds us. Off of the beaten track, he pulls me close and kisses me again, more passionate and meaningful this time. It’d be easy to fall in love all over again but I have to remind myself not to. He doesn’t want me for those purposes, he said, we are nothing, just friends with benefits.
And we are, I told myself.
5 thoughts on “Number Thirty-Five”
Helen, this is incredibly hot! I’ll say thank you, but now you have me in a froth, and there’s no relief. 😉
I’m glad you liked it, Shae. If it’s any consolation, I’ve been refused tonight because I still have to cook dinner so I suppose I’ll just have to huff my way through Sexy Beasts instead 😁